


thirteen ways (of looking at a blogpost)

by rossetti



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-25
Updated: 2009-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-08 04:27:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rossetti/pseuds/rossetti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a while since I've seen, or played music with the guys so we had quite a glorious reunion. Jon filled me in on snow-football in the backyard while Brendon, Spencer and I filled him in on 75 degree sun and fun in California. As of now I live in Brendon's guest room on a very small and uncomfortable  air mattress. So does Spence but I think he has some sort of deluxe model, very nice. Right now all three of Brendon's dogs are climbing on me and my laptop. Soon Hobo will be over for many play-dates and bbq's.This one is called Bogart.  I'm not sure where anyone is, and they don't answer their phones much so the dogs and I are holding down the fort today. --we're so blogging</p>
            </blockquote>





	thirteen ways (of looking at a blogpost)

He buys the air mattress at a Target somewhere between San Bernardino and Rancho Cucamonga, after Brendon texts while he's filling his gas tank. Brendon opens the door in his bathing suit, dripping wet and grinning. "I'll buy real mattresses soon, I swear, but after you try the pool you'll understand my distraction."

They make margaritas from premium tequila in a slim blue bottle and mixer from a gift basket, drink them warm and sweet as they sit in the sun. They switch to Mexican beer with too much lime, pulled straight from one of Brendon's trees. Ryan swims in his tshirt and boxers, shoulders still burnt from Hawaii, and falls asleep in the dusky sunlight to the sound of Brendon jerking off next to him in the hammock.

*

Spencer disappears for two days, comes back smelling of salt air, with bedhead and sand in his clothes and an air mattress box tucked under one arm. "If we're doing this, I, at least, am doing this right," he declares, marching past where Ryan and Brendon are arguing drop-c again. Ryan thinks it's Brendon's turn to win.

Brendon's been jittery, shaking his hair out every two minutes, touching his face, his arms, his feet, Ryan. "Did you two?" Ryan guesses, days too late, knowing he's right.

"Fucked his brains out," Brendon raises his Solo cup in salute. "Not the first time either."

"Huh," Ryan strums, letting it fade out slowly. "He gets uncomfortable when he doesn't want to admit what he wants."

"I know," Brendon doesn't smile. "But thanks."

*

Ryan ties a note to Bogart's collar, sends her outside to play with Brendon and Spencer and picks up his guitar again. He's on his back on the floor playing for the ceiling when they appear on either side, Spencer with one raised eyebrow and Brendon with a shit eating grin.

"How much did you smoke?" Brendon asks.

"Where did you get shrooms?" Spencer shakes his head, correcting.

"Ding ding ding," he points at Spencer. "One gold for the dragon man in purple." Brendon's face gets closer. He breathes with Ryan, in and out, his brown eyes staring straight into Ryan's soul. "I'm good for a cuddle now," he tells Brendon. "You're the cuddle monster."

Spencer's palm is warm on his belly suddenly, rubbing in circles. "Sleep." Ryan does.

*

"Snow-football?" Ryan wrinkles his nose. Jon nods, a super serious expression on his face as he nods and swigs his beer. "Sounds cold." Ryan decides. He waves the bottle of sunscreen at Jon.

Jon licks his lips. "Naw, you warm up running around." Ryan waves the bottle again and Jon pulls off his shirt. They vowed not to go back into the house until the sun went down. Spencer chucked the sunscreen and a bottle of water at them, locked the door behind, but Brendon keeps sneaking them beer and pizza.

Ryan swings a leg over, settles behind Jon. Jon shivers under his touch as he rubs the lotion in. Ryan kisses Jon's shoulders, grimaces at the taste. "I missed your skin," he whispers and Jon falls over laughing.

*

Spencer goes to pick Jon up at the airport. It's a surprise, Jon was going to get a cab. Ryan and Brendon stay to decorate but end up lazily blowing each other on the couch after sampling Jon's homecoming brownies. "Tasty," Brendon gasps as Ryan goes down deep, deeper.

They finish in time to continue decorating but don't. "We made brownies?" Ryan tries when Spencer and Jon walk in the door. Late afternoon sunlight is streaming in sideways, or maybe that's just Ryan.

Spencer goes to get the brownies, Jon joins them on the couch. Spencer joins, too, when he walks back in, plants himself between Ryan and Jon, creating space where there was none. Brendon takes this as the encouragement he needs to wiggle up, over, spreading out evenly.

*

They stay outside around the fire until the canyon's tinted pink-orange. Jon makes noises about going to get his camera but Spencer's asleep with his head on Jon's chest so it's unlikely. Brendon's curled around Ryan in the mis-matching deck chair, awake enough to murmur replies but not enough to make conversation. "Bren-don," he sing-songs. "Brendon it's cold."

Brendon responds but it's sleep-talk. Ryan's eyes meet Jon's and they smile at each other until Spencer snore-grunts and then they laugh until they've woken both Brendon and Spencer. Spencer scrubs at his hair and frowns at all of them, the unhappiest wet-cat glare he can manage while he's splayed over Jon. "Pancakes," Brendon declares.

"Sleep," Spencer counters.

"Songs," Jon smiles.

Ryan smiles back at him until, "Whoops -- dogs, incoming!"

*

"Honey, I'm home!" Brendon yells after he slams the door. Jon chokes a laugh out around Ryan's dick and pulls off to giggle. Ryan's torn. Brendon should be back with more weed. Should he get off before or after he gets high?

"My life is full of difficult decisions," he tells Spencer later, trying to say it without breathing, holding in the smoke. Spencer snorts, hands him a beer. Brendon comes out in another outfit. Ryan gives it a thumbs up, Spencer a thumbs down. Jon hates being the tie breaker, normally looks trapped and tries to get out of it, but this time he makes a face and gives a thumbs down immediately. "I like the vertical stripes!"

Brendon strips and tosses the shirt onto the return pile.

*

Spencer's air mattress is empty when Ryan wakes up, a stack of linens topped with a pillow folded neatly at the head. Ryan squints into the sun. He thinks Brendon needs curtains.

He opens the bedroom door to find three dogs waiting for him. "Did you make coffee?" he asks them. Bogart yawns.

There's no one in the house, not that Ryan can see. Brendon's phone is on the kitchen table, next to Shane's, next to a cashed bowl Ryan taps at after finishing the last of the coffee. The pot was cold, it might've been yesterday's.

"I think the house is ours," he informs Dylan when she comes running into the room. She whines and runs smack into the glass door. He winces and opens it for her.

*

Brendon has a room full of guitars and keyboards and drums and amps, and possibly a glockenspiel. Spencer had duct taped two crossed drum sticks to the door and wrote ARMORY on a paper, taped to the door. It's a big room but crammed, not good for jamming. They only go in to choose their weapons, now. Ryan tried to sleep in there but had nightmares, guitars popping their strings around him, in pain and crying out. Spencer only shrugged when Ryan dragged his air mattress to Spencer's room, the one with BROTHEL taped to the door in Brendon's handwriting.

"No fucking tambourines," Spencer declares, tossing one out into the canyon Frisbeestyle. Ryan sends another after it, laughing. He'd make sure Brendon's favorite was safe, tucked in Hobo's carrier.

*

Jon won't get out of the pool, says he's catching up and they owe him, leaving him with the snow and the wind. Bogart and Dylan chewed the last floaty chair to shreds, pulling it between them. Jon confiscated Ryan's air mattress. Ryan supposes they'll all sleep together tonight, too happy and excited to bother clearing out of Brendon's room, and he'll let the mattress dry out in the sun tomorrow.

Jon doesn't want to smoke in the pool, not with drippy hands and hair, so they're taking turns shotgunning him when he drifts closer to the edge, sometimes paddling in for a hit. Ryan holds Hobo under one arm, drops her in Jon's lap on his next turn, before pushing them off into the center of the pool.

*

Spencer still snores loudly when he sleeps on his back. Ryan tries poking a toe out to nudge Spencer's air mattress but can't quite reach. He overbalances and rolls off, wincing when his hipbone hits the floor. He makes the best of it and crawls for Spencer's air mattress, the deluxe pillow-top comfort calling to him almost as much as shutting Spencer up.

"Wha?" Spencer wakes up when Ryan's weight upsets the balance of the mattress. "No." Spencer turns away from him, nearly rolls off the mattress, is saved only by Ryan grabbing him around the middle. "Ok," Spencer's arm settles over his.

"We'll buy beds tomorrow," he tells Spencer's neck as he throws a leg over Spencer's. He won't need a blanket if he stays close, he thinks.

*

Ryan spent an hour inflating his air mattress, sitting cross-legged on Brendon's kitchen counter as he inhaled-two-three, exhaled-four-one. There was a hand pump in the box but he let Dylan carry it off in her teeth, knowing it'd be too hard to catch her and even more difficult to pry it away if it became her new favorite toy.

Spencer's has some type of built in motor and inflates itself in thirty seconds at the push of a button. Brendon swan dives onto it and Spencer deflates it under him, laughing as Brendon grouses. He takes a picture on his phone and sends it to Jon, of Brendon starfished out over the half-inflated air mattress. Later Jon sends him back a photo of a tree branch, covered in snow.

*

Jon starts singing first, rough and happy, leaning into Brendon when he joins in. Ryan smiles at Spencer, tucks himself into Spencer's side. Spencer smiles wide enough to spark electricity and raises both arms above his head, pulling his shirt up until there's a crescent of belly. "You're a golden god," Ryan teases, flushing when Spencer repeats it with meaning, with intent, with truth.

It's their song, one of their tour songs, something between a shanty and a rondel, or so Brendon tells them. Ryan closes his eyes. The house smells old, older than Ryan would expect. It already smells like home and Ryan's absolutely unafraid of thinking of this space as anything other than theirs, all of theirs, it doesn't matter who's on the lease. "Mine," he says.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to Wallace Stevens, Jess and Jon Hemingway Walker.


End file.
